If I could figure out what the spirit of the season is supposed to be, I might admit to starting to get into that spirit at last. Iím not talking about any of the various religious or cultural frameworks that add their particular flavors to the mťlange of tradition that defines the season as we know it. All of that is for the true partisans.
In this particular minefield, Iím (a) a neutral observer, but also (2) an enthusiast, of sorts. Just because I donít believe everything doesnít make me an abstainer from comfort and joy and whatever other tidings and sentiments might be wafting through the air like the scent of grandmaís mince pies (another tradition I embrace more in the abstract than in actual indulgence).
Itís harder, when you live alone, to get into the spirit. But itís also easier. Other people just complicate life so much, and most of them donít think like you do, and sometimes they try too hard and sometimes they hardly try at all. Sharing the season can be rewarding, or it can be stressful, or (and this is usually the case) it can be both. It takes more of an effort to do it on your own, but then you can define it any way you choose. If I declare it a successful season, it is so by definition. My definition, of course.